Diagnose Me
by XxTwistedEverAfterxX
Summary: There comes a point in time when Matthew realises that he's being treated a little different to his other colleagues at work, and can't quite pinpoint the reason. It's not until he receives a letter on his desk that he realises why. PruCan Fluff.


**Hello! For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, there's been quite an absence of my fics on here, and for that, I'm very sorry! I have been writing, quite a lot actually, but I've been posting all my fics on my Tumblr account and neglecting this one a little! I'm very sorry! If you would like to read more of my fics when I post them, rather than me forgetting to re-upload them here, definitely go check out my Tumblr which is on my profile for you! If you like this fic, Like and Reblog it on Tumblr as well~! All my fics are organised by pairing in the 'Fic Master Collection' link on my blog! Big smooches, and sorry for the delay in fics!**

**So I've been reading loads and loads of PruCan fics, and had some PruCan RPs, but there's something I've seen that's a really common factor in most PruCan related writing pieces, and it's something that really troubles me. Matthew suffering depression. Now, this isn't in every fic I read, and there are some people (like p0ck3tf0x) who write things perfectly. So I just had to write something dumb out with some domestic PruCan with Matthew having a little vent to Gilbert, and is just something silly and quick. I'll write some better PruCan soon, but this is just to kick me into writing Gilbert's character again! I need to write more PruCan, ahhh! Smooch smooch to all! To those curious who might not have seen the Donald Duck cartoon I reference, it's this clip here!**

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><p>"So, apparently, I'm depressed."<p>

Gilbert dropped the newspaper he was reading, a white eyebrow raising high from above his glasses as he simply stared at his Canadian lover, more than a bit confused, a little concerned, and most definitely stunned.

"What?"

"You heard me," Matthew repeated, looking annoyed, holding up a piece of paper and waving it about as he shrugged his suit jacket off, "Apparently, according to work surveys, I'm depressed."

Gilbert snorted, shifting his position on the couch where he was stretched out, turning his eyes back to the newspaper, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

"Says who?" he asked through his teeth, continuing to rake ruby eyes across the words on the page.

"Stop that, it's a bad habit and you'll wreck your lips and teeth," Matthew chastised, coming up to the couch, dropping the paper in his hands onto the very centre of the newspaper, hands on his hips, left standing in his suit pants, dress shirt and tie, "And work believes that, simply because I marked a few things differently on a survey we all had to take, and because some colleagues probably jokingly filed 'concerned' reports to the boss, they're all under some stupid impression that I'm depressed, and riddled with anxieties, and—_read it_. Please, God, Gilbert, this is a joke."

"You sound stressed right now," Gilbert teased, twinkle in his eyes, laughing as Matthew scowled and thwacked him mildly on the head.

"Come _on_."

"Alright, alright!" Gilbert laughed, placing the newspaper down against his belly, picking up the folded letter that was creased in thirds, smoothing it open and cleared his throat, "Should I read it out loud?"

"If you do, I'll get angry again—"

"Ahem. '_Addressed to: Matthew Williams, software analyser of the Tech. Corp. team_—'"

"Jesus fuck, Gilbert, do you _have_ to?"

"'—_After our recent survey, we have gathered the results of the aforementioned examinations, and regret to inform you of your performance. There have been concerns voiced by other staff members, and head office has been allocated to_'—wow, so many _big words_," Gilbert mocked, sniggering as Matthew clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

"I'm about ninety percent certain they had to look up the definition for those words, it all sounds so awkward," Matthew muttered, shaking his head, "Look, read the end, come on, I'm getting annoyed."

"Blah, blah, blah… Uh, where? Oh, here. '_… would like to offer you counselling services and a discount to any anti-depressants to help you to_'—wow, they're serious?"

"It's a joke! It has to be!" Matthew exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, his glasses sliding down his nose at the sharp movement, "They missed April first by three weeks, almost! It's not my birthday so they can't prank me for whatever reason they want! Why? I don't understand! _Why_? Do I look depressed to you?!"

Gilbert covered his face with the letter, smirking behind it as he sunk down further into the seat.

"Oh yeah, Birdie, you look like you'll crack any second now. Big, fat tears, wobbly bottom lip, buckets of ice-cream at three in the morning with chick flicks and _all_," he teased, earning a dirty look thrown his way.

"I'm being serious here," Matthew grumbled, tone disgusted as he ran a hand through his hair, lips pursed, "Look, all I'm saying is, how do I tell people that I'm _not_ depressed? I get depressed when I have to deal with stupid people at work all day. That's depressing! Even then, that's not me suffering depression. I'm _not_ depressed!"

Matthew paused, grasping at some fair blond locks as Gilbert began to laugh, his own shoulders growing tense.

"Stop it! They treat me different now because of this! I'm certain there was a company email going about warning people to walk on egg shells near me! I didn't even understand why someone gave me a chocolate bar and a pat on the back this until I opened this stupid letter!" Matthew snapped, hands dropping uselessly by his side as Gilbert kept laughing, tears in the albino's eyes from the force of it, exasperation carved onto the former's face, "Really, you're like a damn hyena."

"I-I'm sorry, I just—_depressed_. _You_. That's _hilarious_!" the German crowed, hands covering his face, struggling to sit up, legs kicking before him on the end of the couch, "S-Sorry! Sorry, I just… I'm sorry! You're the opposite of depression and I just—_wow_."

Face flushed a light pink in annoyance, Matthew stood tall, taking in deep breaths as he watched Gilbert calm down, picking himself up, legs spreading to give room to Matthew.

"Okay, come here," the albino choked out, wiping at his eyes and removing his reading glasses, "Sorry. That was too good to pass up. Good laugh, good laugh."

"You're such an asshole," Matthew complained half heartedly, though he dropped into the man's lap regardless, slumping lifelessly against the him.

"Aww, Mattie, don't you cry now—_ow_!"

"You deserved that," he muttered, withdrawing his fingers from the other's side where he'd given an unforgiving pinch.

"Okay, sorry about laughing. So, what, this letter basically wants you to smile more?" Gilbert asked, arms wrapping around the blond, burying his nose in the other's hair, "What do you want me to do?"

"I just had to vent. It's stupid. That's all. Thanks for listening. I feel better now," Matthew sighed, closing his eyes, his face tucked in against Gilbert's collarbone and neck, "The boss had gone home long before I read the letter, so I couldn't get anything straightened out. They treat mental health too childishly. Granted, I shouldn't jokingly say after meetings that I want to kill myself. I didn't think I did it loudly."

"You say that?" Gilbert asked, surprised.

"Well… Yes, but, you know, in that defeated kind of 'I can't believe I have to deal with morons like these for hours every day, I wish I was dead instead of near them' sort of way… you know?" Matthew sighed out, "I normally just mumble it to myself when I've left the meeting or when I'm the last one there left cleaning up because some of their ideas really hurt my IQ."

"Does it make you cry—"

"_Gilbert_."

"Sorry, sorry, just trying to lighten the mood," he chuckled, rubbing at Matthew's back, "You're tense. Come on, this is an easy fix. Just tell them that you're okay, it was all a misunderstanding, and then maybe get back at those workers by saying you think some of them are depressed? Or maybe milk them for free stuff by using eye drops to look like you're going to cry?"

"You're such a _child_," Matthew accused, lifting his eyes up to give a weak glare at his lover who only chuckled and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"I'm _your_ child though," Gilbert crooned.

Staring for a moment, Matthew sighed heavily, nodding as he pressed in close, allowing his body to relax beneath the large hands kneading at every knot in his back, working the tension loose slowly. They fell into a content silence, Gilbert being able to read that Matthew just needed a bit of time to rest and unwind, and Matthew just grateful that he wasn't contemplating plugging his ears with a sharp pencil simply to avoid having to listen to stupid ideas any longer.

"You'll crinkle your suit," Gilbert warned, chuckling when all he got in response was a lazy and exhausted grunt, "Hey, don't sleep on me. Come on, it's only six."

"I'm _not _depressed."

"What?"

"I said I'm _not_ depressed. I'm okay. Really," Matthew repeated, voice soft, "I get stressed like everyone else, but just because I know how to count to ten and take a deep breath doesn't mean I can't function. I smile enough—I smile _plenty_. I'm just not one for raising my voice or shouting over morons and usually just sit back and keep quiet until I get a chance to speak. That's not depression. That's just me saving my damn voice when I'm surrounded by _fucking morons_."

Gilbert smiled, nodding, his eyes falling shut as he untucked Matthew's shirt to rub at his sinewed muscles easier.

"No matter what people say about you, and no matter what people view you as, you know I'll always see you as a strong, handsome man," Gilbert said as he adjusted his legs back up onto the couch, "Without depression and all."

The albino could feel the smile against his neck, then the lips mouthing softly in kisses and he hummed contently.

"You're scary on ice, and I've never seen someone more resilient to nature, or more _insane_ when it comes to the cold," he continued, yanking the rest of the shirt out and pushing it up a little, kneading with his knuckles to draw soft grunts and sighs of pleasure and relief for the aid to his aches, "You're so much more than your looks and quietness, because with enough beer in you and a hockey match, I sometimes fear the neighbours calling for noise disturbance or misunderstanding that you're watching the television and not abusing or murdering me."

Matthew laughed, lifting his head to nibble softly at Gilbert's chin.

"I'm not _that_ bad."

"I think you've made me cry six times last hockey season because you looked like you would literally bite my head off," Gilbert laughed, tilting his head down a little, "You know, like in those old cartoons? The Donald Duck one where he took a chunk out of a wooden post, chewed it up and spit it out. You looked like that."

Matthew was laughing again, and the albino felt proud, feeling the other's chest tremble and shake against his, fall and rise, and his stomach tense with the mirth.

"Come on, let's go eat something. Don't work yourself up over stupid people that don't know you," he prompted, sitting up, his muscles thick and bulging and flexing, able to sit up easily, his loose relaxing clothes still snug against him, "I'll make you pancakes with extra maple syrup!"

"Idiot," Matthew chuckled, smile wide, "Just because I'm Canadian doesn't mean my only food is pancakes with maple syrup. I'm cooking. We're having Steak with creamy mushroom sauce, mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables."

"And this is why I love you."

"I love you too, Gil. Thank you."


End file.
